Acton's Feud eBook

II

OVER THE FELLS

When day dawned, and the snowed-up travellers began
to look around them, they found that, though the snow
was not descending nearly as heavily as on the night
before, the wind was still strong and the weather bitterly
cold.

On the windward side of the train the snow had drifted
almost up to the window panes, but on the leeward
there was considerably less. Looking up and down
the line, they could see their train surrounded by
its dazzling environment, and the drifts were so high
that they had filled the low cutting stretching towards
Lowbay level to its top.

The train was an island in a sea of snow.

The Amorians, stiff and cramped with their narrow
quarters of the night, dropped off into the snow on
the sheltered side and explored as far as the overturned
engine, now stark and cold, with wonder and awe.

“Why, we’re like rats in a trap!”
exclaimed Gus Todd.

“We’ll have a council of war now,”
said Acton, as he saw the driver and his mate floundering
towards them, “and then we can see what’s
to be done—­if anything can be done.”

It seemed the result of the council was to be the
decision that there was nothing to be done. To
go back to Lowbay, or forward to Lansdale, was plainly
impossible, and neither guard nor driver thought they
could be ploughed out under two days at the earliest.
“And yet,” concluded Acton, “we
can’t starve and freeze for two days. Look
here, guard, isn’t there a fell farm somewhere
hereabouts? I begin to fancy——­”

“There’s one over the hills yonder, three
or four miles away. Might as well be three hundred,
for they’ll never dream of our being snowed up
here.”

“Well, but can’t we go to them, if you
know the way?”

“That’s just what I don’t know,
with all this snow about. The farm is behind
that hill somewhere; but I could no more take you there
than fly. Besides, who could wade up to their
necks in snow for half a mile, let alone three?”

“But the snow won’t be so deep on the
fells as in these cuttings.”

“That’s true, I suppose. But get
into a drift on the fell—­and, Lord, that
would be easy enough—­you’re done.
And there’s becks deep enough to drown a man,
and you’ll never see them till you’re up
to your chin in their icy waters. I wouldn’t
chance it for anything. We mun wait here till
we’re dug out, sir, and that’s all about
it.”

“Where is that farm, guard? Behind which
shoulder of the fell?”

“Look here, Acton,” began Dick Worcester,
apprehensively, “I’m hanged if we’re
going to let you go groping about for any blessed farm
in this storm. We’ll eat the coals in the
tender first!”

“Thanks, Dick. Which shoulder, guard?”

The man explained as fully and elaborately as if he
might as well talk as think. The shoulder of
the fell was noted by Acton exactly and carefully,
even to borrowing a compass pendant off Todd’s
historic watch—­chain.